216 THE "BIG WOODS." 



sible to eliminate them, and write of angling pure and sim- 

 ple. I might go on and enumerate each individual brook 

 and rivulet that I have fished in these " Big Woods," and 

 photograph its minutest features : teU where this still water 

 tumbles into a ravine, or where that rapid deepens and 

 widens into a pool. I might even presume to offer an opin- 

 ion as to the kinds of flies that different streams and varying 

 seasons require to insure a plenitude of rich success. But all 

 these minutias would only tend to confuse the reader. I 

 have told him where some of the best streams are ; and now 

 I prefer that he would imagine himself in camp with me on 

 the limpid Eau Galle, along whose channel-bed we have 

 been leaping rocks all day, and wading till our limbs were 

 numb. With warm clothes substituted for our wet ones, 

 and our legs thawed out once more, we will quietly toss 

 a fresh log on the fire, and make a royal blaze. While our 

 comrades arc unconscious in the arms of Morpheus, we will 

 revel in its warmth for a brief half hour. Let us set the 

 kettle a boiling, and with sugar, nutmeg, and a spoon con- 

 coct a soothing sling. Now drink it slowly. Remark how 

 gradually its genial, vivifying warmth courses through the 

 veins, lulling the senses, closing the eyelids slowly, repressing 

 thoughts and consciousness, composing to rest. There ! now 

 gather the glowing embers together, draw your rubber blan- 

 ket snugly to your chin, pull down the rim of your soft felt- 

 hat closely around your face and cars, commend yourself to 

 Him whose love protects, and then — sleep ! In the solitude 

 of these silent, sheltering woods is absolute security. The 

 midnight stars are keeping watch ; a doleful cricket chirps 

 betimes; and out of the distant gloom come the hollow 

 melancholy ululations of an owl. 



Thus we measure out one little span of life in these " Big 

 Woods." 



